The World Which Is

Chapter 23

The cart jostles hard, and I bite my tongue so I don't let out the yelp of pain as my head hits whatever metal thing I'm resting against.

Crossing the town to reach the west gate was simple. All I did was keep my head down and stay away from places I knew friends of my dad, or mine, might be in. When I reached the caravan, it was the chaos of final loading, seeing to the animals that would pull them, and guards discussing stuff.

I made it to the largest cart already tarped, and when no one was paying attention, I slipped under it and made myself comfortable among the contents.

Tried to make myself comfortable. I picked the one filled with metal. Parts and wrought iron, probably steel, and other things pulled from the dungeon up north. I couldn't imagine any beast of burden able to pull all of this. I didn't notice the harness, but it had to be big, for the number of animals needed.

I was sweating from the heat and stale humidity by the time the cart moved. The tarp was oiled, and while it would keep the rain from making stuff under wet. It trapped the heat and late morning humidity.

More than once after we were moving, I was tempted to lift the side to let fresh air in, but while the voices were muffled by the thick tarp, they were constant, so I had to endure it at the cost of willpower.

Maybe this will help raise the skill, if I don't first run out and reveal myself.

When the cart stops moving, I'm down to half my willpower, and I have no idea how long we've been on the road. The voices take on a questioning tone, then...

"I just need to check something." Close enough for me to make out what he's saying as he walks along the cart. Must be the driver, although I'd have expected the cart to shift when he got off, even with all this—the light blinds me as the tarp goes up. Then I'm in the air.

"I knew there was something off about the weight," the man says as he holds me by the black of my shirt, high enough my feet are dangling. All I see through the spots is a massive form, his arm raised so I'm over his head. "Every fucking time," he snarls, and the spots finally clear enough I see who is holding me in the air and my jaw drops.

Chuck is holding me.

I'm dangling from his—

He shakes me. "I'm not a fucking bus service! So you can—"

"I can't go back," I replied, sounding a lot more scared than I intend.

He narrows his eyes at me. "Yeah, kids who are allowed to leave town don't resort to sneaking onto my carts."

"What are you going to do with me?" I still sound scared. I mean, Chuck's scary. I watched him send a Ramthom flying with a swing. Stories are he took on an ogre by himself and walked away without even a scratch. And he's old, well over seventy, not that he looks it. He sighs and puts me down. I use the cart to stay up while my legs stop wobbling.

"I'm going to put you to work." He replies. "You're going to pay to ride." He looks me over. "What's your class? Is it at least something that's going to help on the trip?"

"I'm an explorer," I reply and did I sound as meek as I think? "I have fighting training, and I'm learning the bow."

He frowns. "Haven't come across one of you in decades. No wonder you want out. Every explorer I've known couldn't stand in the same place for more than five minutes. Grandmother taught you?"

"Yes." Of course he'd know her. She was famous, and so was he.

"What levels?"

"Fifteen and sixteen. My bow's only at four. I only got my class a few days ago, and I didn't get much time to train."